Mrs. Austin stared aghast at her son's question. "Why, Margaret is with you, is she not?" she exclaimed. "No, mother; I expected to find her here." "Did you leave her, then?" "No, not exactly; that is to say, I——" Clement did not finish the sentence. He walked slowly up and down the room thinking, whilst his mother watched him very anxiously. "My dear Clement," Mrs. Austin exclaimed at last, "you really quite alarm me. You set out this afternoon upon some mysterious expedition with Margaret; and though I ask you both where you are going, you both refuse to satisfy my very natural curiosity, and look as solemn as if you were about to attend a funeral. Then, after ordering dinner for seven o'clock, you keep it waiting nearly two hours; and you come in without Margaret, and seem alarmed at not seeing her here. What does it all mean, Clement?" "I cannot tell you, mother." "What! is this business of to-day, then, a part of your secret?" "It is," answered the cashier. "I can only say again what I said before, mother—trust me!" The widow sighed, and shrugged her shoulders with a deprecating gesture. "I suppose I _must_ be satisfied, Clem," she said. "But this is the first time there's ever been anything like a mystery between you and me." "It is, mother; and I hope it may be the last." The elderly waiter, who remembered the coaching days, and pretended to believe that the Reindeer was not an institution of the past, came in presently with the first course. It happened to be one of those days on which fish was to be had in Shorncliffe; and the first course consisted of a pair of very small soles and a large cruet-stand. The waiter removed the cover with as lofty a flourish as if the small soles had been the noblest turbot that ever made the glory of an aldermannic feast. Clement seated himself at the dinner-table, in deference to his mother, and went through the ceremony of dinner; but he scarcely ate half a dozen mouthfuls. His ears were strained to hear the sound of Margaret's footstep in the corridor without; and he rejected the waiter's fish-sauces in a manner that almost wounded the feelings of that functionary. His mind was racked by anxiety about the missing girl. Had he passed her on the road? No, that was very improbable; for he had kept so sharp a watch upon the lonely highway that it was more than unlikely the familiar figure of her whom he looked for could have escaped his eager eyes. Had Mr. Dunbar detained her at Maudesley Abbey against her will? No, no, that was quite impossible; for the footman had distinctly declared that he had seen his master's visitor leave the house; and the footman's manner had been innocence itself. The dinner-table was cleared by-and-by, and Mrs. Austin produced some coloured wools, and a pair of ivory knitting-needles, and set to work very quietly by the light of the tall wax-candles; but even she was beginning to be uneasy at the absence of her son's betrothed wife.